


What a Spy Might Give

by jesseberyll



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, jerking off, poor Ancel Avignon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseberyll/pseuds/jesseberyll
Summary: Mathias Shaw is summoned by King Wrynn, and he is, as ever, ready to serve. (This is a meta-fic, my take on a continuation to What a King Might Need by Buntheridon.)
Relationships: Mathias Shaw/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	What a Spy Might Give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buntheridon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What a King Might Need ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342652) by [Buntheridon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/pseuds/Buntheridon). 



**What a Spy Might Give**

  
  


The Lich King had finally been dealt with. It was time for the expedition to head home and leave Icecrown Citadel to its natural ruin. Or, to its new leader, Mathias Shaw mused, if rumors were to be trusted.

The decision over whether he ought to travel ahead and secure a route or stay aboard the Skybreaker and protect his king was not an easy one. On the one hand, it was imperative to make sure no ambush lay in waiting en route, but on the other hand, one could never be sure when and how the Horde planned to sneak aboard the skyship; they could already be present, cloaked in deception and stealth. Their operatives were no amateurs either, however much admitting that left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

In the end, he stayed to secure the trip home, and sent a squadron of trusted men ahead.

He steadied himself on the wooden walling of the skyship as High Captain Bartlett steered it into a precarious turn. Mathias was generally sure-footed, his ears no longer snapped and he barely felt the motion of the ship, as his profession required, but sudden turns at such high altitude still could leave his head spinning for a split second. A dangerous split second, after which his muscles all flexed ready, his senses strained, waiting for the knife in the neck or the poison vial.

Nothing of the sort happened. He walked on, aware of his surroundings, the roar of the engines normal, quickly becoming a backdrop to his selective hearing, no longer relevant.

As he neared the royal quarters, he caught the eye of the guard closer to him. Ancel Avignon, twenty-seven, a decorated knight with several military accomplishments under his belt, appointed as royal guard about three months ago. As with all of the men and women so close to the king, Mathias had screened him personally. Absolutely fit for the role, stalwart, ready to die for monarch and country - so why the quickly darting eyes, why the nervous shift, and the flush to his freckled cheeks?

Mathias paused, watching him, watching his current partner - Wallace Hestus, forty-nine, a bastion of loyalty and integrity, twelve years in service of King Wrynn. His face like granite, dark eyes like flint, his stern mouth quick to smile in favoured company. He greeted Mathias with a nod, and he returned it with reciprocated respect.

All the while, Ancel still looked like a besotted youth caught glancing at a lady’s ankle.

“Something the matter, soldier?” Mathias addressed him, his suspicion mounting. Duplicity? Dereliction of duty? Treason? But he could detect no lie in the man - only embarrassment, shame.

“N-no, Spymaster,” Ancel stuttered. His front teeth had a small, but visible gap between them. His features were strangely delicate with high cheekbones, but his nose was aquiline, his flickering eyes dark brown under the helmet. “All… all is in order.”

Mathias saw him glance down - at his mouth - then swiftly away. He saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and he saw him shift again, as though in discomfort.

_Ah._

_But of course._

Ancel Avignon had been stationed at the royal tent about two weeks ago as well. A canvas tent, which really did nothing to block sound, even if the din of the camp around it was loud.

Two weeks ago, when he had blown Varian’s gorgeous cock like a twenty-four carat courtesan.

_Fuck, that had been wonderful._

_Now what to do about this, Mathias?_

“You seem… indisposed. Perhaps an upset stomach?” He suggested, turning to Wallace. The other guard grunted, scowling across at Ancel, giving an almost imperceptible nod. _You’d better act along and get yourself in order before the Spymaster puts you in the dungeons._

“Y...yes. I… it must be the food and flying combined.” Ancel recovered somewhat, clearing his throat. He still tried to look at all of Mathias, while not looking at him at all. It was comical, really. And harmless.

“That could be the case,” Mathias agreed. Then gave the coup-de-grace, because he really was quite a bastard when it came to teasing. “One has to be careful what goes inside their mouth, isn’t that right?”

Ancel choked, flushed all the way to his forehead, and coughed out a vague ‘yessir’ while Wallace grumbled over him, flabbergasted at what happened to his put-together partner.

Mathias smirked, pleased at the reaction, but already looking forward to what might come next. “Sir Hestus, see to it that Sir Avignon gets some bedrest today. Send for Sir Venrose to replace him, he is on reserve.”

“Yes, sir.” Wallace saluted, then gestured at the door. “His Majesty requested we permit you at once.”

“Thank you.”

Mathias dismissed both guards from his thoughts as he opened the carved door and entered the royal quarters. He shut it tight behind him, and stood still, gazing at Varian Wrynn from across him.

The king sat behind his desk - nailed to the wooden floor as all other furniture in the cabin, - a bottle of wine sitting on the polished surface before him. The cork was still in place and the bottle was full.

Varian lifted his eyes from Shalamayne across his lap, languid, undisturbed. Indeed, a wolf in its natural habitat, fearing nothing. The grey-green gaze was steady. The king’s dark hair hung loose around his scarred face, a tousled mess, brushing his broad shoulders.

He was half naked, like a prize fighter put on display. Mathias felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight - so much muscle, so many scars, such unmatched _prowess_.

There truly was no other man like him, was there?

“I thought I would have a cup, Spymaster,” Varian said. He put Shalamayne aside, on the bed behind him. The steel glimmered with the light of the oil lamps, but the magical orb in the blade dulled when it lost its master’s touch. “Then I remembered you… chastising your king for indulging.”

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake, he is_ so deliberate.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. It is not my place, your Majesty,” Mathias tried to deflect. The savage grin that answered him told him it was futile.

“No, it is not. But I had been in a state. Perhaps your interference was not unwarranted.”

 _A prowling wolf,_ Mathias thought, skin tingling with want, silent, because he knew responding would only draw this out longer. _A prowling fucking wolf with his teeth bared, shrewd and powerful. In his element. And what are you? A fox with a poison bite that will never reach._

Varian enjoyed his silence, beholding him, reclining in his seat. Defined pectorals, bulging arms, amazing abdomen. The lion’s head on his belt buckle seemed to roar with laughter, and below it…

“...how long had you wanted to suck me, Shaw?”

Mathias felt the back of his neck burn, despite himself.

_Fuck, the walls have ears everywhere, what is he thinking, how does he have the gall to…_

But that was a ridiculous question concerning a man who single handedly governed half of a continent and more besides. He was a king, _the_ king, of course he had the gall.

“...years,” he heard himself whisper, hoarse. _Ever since your coronation, perhaps._

Varian’s chin tilted with pride, and yet his grin softened, as though in understanding. “Your patience is commendable.”

“I pride myself in my discipline, your Majesty.”

“But you slipped. Back then.” Varian leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. His grey-green eyes were watchful, studying him. “There was nothing else on your mind.”

Mathias waited for judgment, breathless, drowning in the implications. He slipped, indeed. He, Stormwind’s Spymaster, had made a mistake. He had shown weakness, whereas it should not have been allowed, and-

“I liked that.”

The admission was strangely soft on that gravelly voice.

“I want to see that again.”

Varian leaned back once more, and put his legs further apart in an obvious invitation.

Mathias dared not take it, not yet. The air felt electric with anticipation, like an intangible weight readying to drop, that dance on the margin that left him questioning; was he allowed?

And finally, he was, “Come here and kneel, Shaw.”

Always, his surname or his title. Always that imperial distance between them that makes the intimacy all the more delicious. That makes it safe. Except that once, when he was leaving the tent, that single occasion that he barely dared to remember.

Mathias hurried to obey, coming to kneel before his king, between his legs. His eyes were stuck on the beautiful dick he knew was hidden beneath the leather of his trousers, its shape unmistakeable, its allure undeniable. He was near-salivating at the thought of having it stretch his mouth again, feeling the head on his tongue, tasting the salt and musk it seeped.

But he did nothing more. He was not commanded.

Varian lifted a hand and threaded his rough fingers through his short, red hair, savouring the moment. What a rare, astounding boon, that gesture of tenderness, how undeserved… Mathias was blind with the need to just open his lips and wait to be used. Sucking that cock, getting it in his throat, having his cum flood his mouth, the thought itself was pure bliss, had his own dick throbbing hard.

“Open your trousers,” Varian said.

He had nearly made a mistake again - he thought he misheard. But no, his ears were still as keen as ever, even when ringing with maddening lust. Mathias brought his hands to his belt and unbuckled it, worked on the lacing, his heart pounding in his throat. What was happening? This was entirely outside his expectations and he hadn’t a single notion for handling it.

His cock twitched, still trapped in his open trousers, weeping precum onto his skin. Only the top half was visible, but it was easy to tell that he was wildly aroused, having the time of his life, getting off on kneeling before his king, ready to serve like a whore.

“Take it in your hand,” Varian went on, his deep voice thick with desire. He was not unaffected, and the thought left Mathias shivering. “Show me how you do it when you think of me, Spymaster.”

The king was getting off on this, too. Fuck, he really was.

So Mathias pushed his trousers further down his hips and grabbed his cock in one hand. He made sure Varian was watching, then gave it a slow, pleasurable pull, baring the slick head of the foreskin, allowing precum to drip down from the slit, clinging to the frenulum. Bliss pulsed through him, heated and insistent, clenching in his loins.

“Good.” It seemed his king was pleased. He leaned back in his heavy, cushioned chair, leaning on one armrest, his other hand idly resting on his concealed dick, caressing the shape, the shaft, the swollen sack.

Outrageously seductive.

Mathias groaned softly, briefly wondering what the guards outside would hear of the second exchange, and his hand began a rhythm, stroking his cock. Up and down, foreskin slipping, quiet wet noises filling the air between them. His gaze dropped to the silhouette in Varian’s trousers and his mouth opened for a sweet gasp.

“Are you ready to serve me, Shaw?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” he whispered, hurried, the words seemingly melting into one pleading, admiring phrase.

“Good.”

The hand idling on his clothed cock moved to unbuckle his belt. The way he unhooked it and unknotted his trousers was languid, he took his time. Varian was not in a rush to get pleasure - the tables were turned, beautifully so. It was Mathias’ turn to ache for a release that was so close, and yet so damn far away, at his monarch’s whim.

Varian shifted as he pulled his dick and balls out of his clothes, letting his trousers bunch under the heavy sack. With one hand holding his shaft at the base, he watched his spymaster for his reaction.

And Mathias couldn’t even hope to conceal or mute it. When the musky, masculine scent of Varian’s cock hit his nose, he moaned, bucking into his own hand without restraint, minutely scooting closer with the motion. It was calculated, his need driving him, his torso nearly bending forward just to get him a little bit closer. He wanted more, he wanted to-

“Are you hungry, Shaw? Here.”

His king grabbed the back of his neck and a barely audible yowl was torn from him as he was roughly hauled forward, his face shoved against Varian’s crotch. His cock was a solid shaft of heated flesh against his cheek, he could feel precum staining his forehead and he panted, open-mouthed trying to get a taste, squirming in the firm grip, all shame gone, out the fucking window, off with the wind. He was a simple man, with a simple, raw desire: he wanted his king’s cock to ravage his mouth.

Varian pulled him against his body and held him still, held the prize just out of his reach. Shaw was trapped in his overwhelming grip, that huge, strong hand grabbing this scruff, overpowering him without much effort. He shuddered, the hand on his own dick still jerking, still edging himself ever closer to that desperate crest, a mind-shattering orgasm.

“Please…” The word rushed from him in something that was dangerously like a sob. He had no air, coarse hairs were tickling his nose, all he could smell was Varian’s scent, thick and alluring, and he so earnestly wanted to give him something too, something to reciprocate the raging pleasure inside him, and at the same time sate his own crushing need.

But no, his king would take what he wanted, and only show his merciful side when it was earned.

The thick, calloused fingers bunched in his red hair and held him away just enough that Varian could put the head of his cock at his mouth. Mathias’ lips fell open at once, his tongue pressing forward, licking, tasting, moaning as his green eyes rolled back for the salty flavors of precum. It was so slick, so delicious, he wanted to lurch forward and choke himself on the entire length, get it all inside.

“Come for me, Shaw. Show me how bad I ruin you.”

“Mmh, yes…” Muffled by a slurping sound as his tongue worked and twirled obscenely around what he could reach, Mathias took the command and picked up pace. He cracked his eyes open to see through tears of intense pleasure, and groaned, falling apart at the sight and the promise he was gifted with.

Varian was jerking himself off, too. His deadly fist moved fast on his thick cock, the right there at Mathias’ mouth still. He was going to spill his cum right on his tongue, on his lips, his mouth. God, the very idea was enough to send him reeling over the edge.

“A- aah…” A broken moan, wretched and wonderful, and Mathias was coming, shuddering in his king’s ruthless grasp. His seed spurted freely onto the floor, spilled over his fingers, coated his length, leaving it slick and shiny as he gave himself a few final strokes to ride the high. His skin felt hot and tight, everything was tingling, his head felt heavy and he was blissfully exhausted, and still waiting, waiting for his boon.

It came a moment later, a scalding splatter of cum across his face, the rest of it dribbling onto his waiting tongue, sticky and thick. Some of it slid down his chin, dripping from his goatee as he licked a final white droplet that still clung to Varian’s cock, sitting in the slit like a jewel. He moaned for the exquisite taste, barely noticing how his king’s stiff figure relaxed into the chair again, coming down from his orgasm.

“...well served, Spymaster,” Varian murmured, releasing the grip on his hair.

He grabbed a towel from the nightstand beside the bed, and wiped his soiled cock gingerly of the excess fluids. Mathias sat on his haunches and watched, waiting for further instruction. This was far more messy than last time. He didn’t know what else his king desired from him.

Once done, Varian tossed the towel at him then got decent, re-buckling his belt. He remained shirtless, however, even as Mathias set to wiping himself clean. He could feel the grey-green eyes on himself, alert, calculating.

Dark spots remained telltale on the unpolished wooden floor.

Mathias laced up his trousers then clasped his belt. He got to his feet and brought the towel to the basket he knew was used for laundry. He dropped it in. All this, under the scrutiny of King Wrynn.

He turned back towards him and the silence thickened.

Varian broke it, before it could become too heavy, “That is all, Shaw. For now.”

Mathias nodded, posture relaxing somewhat. That meant no more teasing, for now. That meant he could leave in a moment and relax and re-live the strange, violently arousing few minutes he had just spent with his monarch. His liege. His...

“I am glad to have served you, my King.”

Varian was silent for a moment, a moment nearly too long. Then the wolf gave the death-shake to his prey.

“Dismissed, Mathias.”

Shaw left, his own name singeing his skin like a brand, renewed.


End file.
